Third Time's the Charm
by Springtime Tuesday
Summary: Sometimes it takes three tries to get it right. Only rated M to be careful.
1. Chapter 1

The first time he had been drunk.

He remembered stumbling into the flat, and he was pretty sure he had been singing, but what he couldn't remember. He had been expecting Howard's angry face to greet him when he walked into their room, and once again had actually been looking forward to the yelling match. He liked making Howard angry, liked the way his face scrunched up and his little eyes shone with passionate anger, even if the reason for the fight was just some spilled tea.

He remembered falling on his arse as he tried to figure out how exactly that strange invention the door was meant to be used, and then looking up into the expected angry face. But then something had changed, because Howard didn't usually stumble about when berating him.

He also couldn't remember there being so many empty bottles in their room when he had left earlier.

Then Howard's hands closed around his arms, and he tried to yank him up. It took him two seconds to decide he wasn't having any of that and to pull Howard down onto his little kingdom of floor. If Howard was about to yell, he would do it from the comfort of shag carpet. The name of the carpet, if he remembers correctly set him off laughing once more.

Then Howard had grabbed his hair and _pulled_. That was definitely not allowed. Ever. He had punched some poor sod's face in for less than that. Howard tugged again, but he remembers that he didn't fight it off. He let Howard yank on his hair, and really_ hard_ too. That in itself should certainly have hinted at the feelings he had for the other man. Howard was yelling something, and pulling harder, and all he remembers is the pain, and sitting uselessly, allowing it to happen.

He can't remember what happened next, did he tell him to stop? He might have, because the wicked pulling fingers eased up, running through the hair light and apologetic. He remembers thinking that it didn't matter, nothing to apologize for, he would let Howard do anything. Thinking about it now, that had been ridiculous. He knew he wouldn't let Howard do millions of things; ice skate, do his makeup, eat guava fruit, at least not after that last time... But somehow he doesn't think that's what his drunken mind meant.

He remembered Howard whispering not to cry, which he had thought was crazy until he felt the wetness on his cheeks for himself. He remembered whispering something back, although he can't quite remember what it was, and he was sure he had said it too loud and ruined the magic of the whisper.

Then Howard had tried to wipe the tears away with his face. Or maybe he had just gone for the snog and missed, but either way they had ended up cheek to cheek, neither one daring to breath, both afraid to break the spell that seemed to envelop them. Finally he remembered tilting his head, just a fraction and then Howard had grabbed his head and pressed their lips together.

He wished he could remember more about the sex. He remembered the floor was hard against his back, and Howard was heavy though he tried to hold himself up a bit. He remembered the spike of heat in his groin, and the tingling sensations through his arms and his stomach. He remembers a bit of sloppy kissing, and Howard doing something quite amazing with his tongue.

Howard's hands he remembered the most, how the ran up and down his arms, then over the bumps of his ribs. He remembered them toying with a nipple, and pinching one, causing him to gasp at the mixture of pain and pleasure. And he remembered the moment they touched his member, and how it felt like heaven.

He couldn't remember much else, and that killed him. He knew that Howard had topped, and he remembers small snatches of ecstatic yells, deep moans, and the feeling of having Howard _inside_ him. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't conjure much else. Not that he needed to. Those few memories drove him crazy, and made him feel a sick mixture of shame, guilt and loss. The worst part was, that beneath all of that was a bud of happiness that he couldn't really explain.

They hadn't talked about it after, to his relief. Howard had given him one awkward smile when they woke up naked and hungover on the floor. Maybe he would have said something, but then he caught sight of himself in Vince's mirror, and had started going off on how he had makeup all over his face, and he looked like a berk. He had agreed, laughing, though he actually thought Howard looked quite fetching in lip gloss. They had bantered for a bit, then Howard had left to get cleaned up.

They still hadn't talked about it, but it was always there, hanging over everything they did. There was a new kind of tension, stronger than it had ever been, and it was building up, but to what he really didn't know. But, true to his nature, he absolutely couldn't wait to find out.

A/N Two more chapters on the way. Hope you enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N This one's a tiny bit more angsty and deserves the M rating more than the first chapter did. Thanks to those who read the last chapter, and especially to those who reviewed :)

The second time he had a bloody lip.

He had stood, shocked, with little drops of blood falling onto the floor, standing out in stark contrast to the white and green tile it landed on. For one absurd second he had thought it looked a bit like Christmas, but then he came to his senses because the green was far too light, not the rich green that reminded his of Christmas trees and holly, and genius green elf outfits.

He had swayed slightly and the colours of the floor had blurred together a little. It had taken a hand reaching out to steady him to bring him out of his dazed trance. He had looked up into Howard's wide eyes, then down at the hand that only a while before had smashed into his face, and shoved the bigger man as hard as he could across the room.

The crash of Howard hitting the counter had brought Naboo and Bollo down. He vaguely recalled Naboo calling someone a ballbag, but mostly he remembered the rushing sound in his ears and the look on Howard's face as he straightened himself out. Howard had looked terrified, and ashamed. All of the anger from earlier seemed to have drained from Howard and poured into him through the contact of his face to the other man's fist. He remembered his cut lip throbbing, and he thought that perhaps that was the feeling of Howard's anger pushing through the cut and swimming its way up into his veins.

Turning on his fashionable heel he had stomped up the stairs , pushing past a concerned looking ape and a confused shaman. He had slammed his door, ignoring the questioning voice of Naboo as he asked Howard what in monkey hell was going on.

Howard had never hit him, at least never that hard, and he had had an inkling that perhaps he wasn't only upset by the pain. He wasn't anyone's bitch and though he liked to have fun, when people attacked him, he fought back. But he hadn't with Howard. He had just stood there shocked, and hurt beyond belief, staring at his blood.

He had actually been surprised that Howard had had the courage to go through with it. He had seen Howard lash out millions of times, but it had always been at someone else and he had never really succeeded in causing much damage. There had been many times in the past that Howard had looked as though he might hit him, but it had never happened. He must have pushed Howard too far that time, though he could hardly remember what he had done wrong.

It hadn't been until much later that Howard had slunk into the room, and he remembered seeing his mate wince when he glanced at the cut on his face. He had been wiping it with a cloth, but it had swollen too much for him to do much about how it made him look. And he had assumed he looked like a freak by the way Howard had stared at him.

He remembered the fight that followed in perfect detail. Howard had been sorry, trying desperately to apologize as he fired off every nasty comment he could in return for the kindness Howard was showing. He had been in the middle of a particularly nasty monologue when Howard had reached out a hand, holding his cheek and stopping him mid-word. At that moment, looking into his plaintive face he had had two thoughts, one to punch the stupid twat and show him how it felt, and the other to kiss him into submission. He remembered being confused by the second thought. Confused and intrigued.

Compromise was always a word he had hated, but at that moment it had echoed through his brain like the ringing of a bell. He remembered flinching as his hand struck Howard's face in an open palmed smack, both the sound and the action itself frightening him and drawing him out of his cocoon of anger.

Then they had been all over each other. He could never remember who had started the kiss, but he liked to think they had both felt the pull and reacted like magnets, clashing together forcefully. He remembered lips all over, his on Howard's neck, Howard's on his shoulder, his on Howard's recently slapped cheek.

He remembered the pain shooting through his cut lip as Howard sucked and ran his tongue over it, and he remembered his own sharp intake of breath, and his refusal to let Howard pull back. He had grabbed the other man's head and pulled him closer, seeking out more of the sweet pain.

He remembered tearing off a shirt, then carefully removing his own catsuit. Then his own sweat slicked skin pressed against the warmth of Howard's skin. He remembers trying to drown in the heat radiating from the other man, pulling off the rest of his clothes so he could press himself against every inch of heated flesh.

He remembered pushing Howard down on the bed, the springs squeaking under the strain as he threw himself on top, knocking the wind out of the other man. He remembered Howard's nails on his back, and that the shivers they had created had prompted him to claw at the other man's chest, tearing a moan from his lips.

He barely remember grabbing lube, but a moment later his fingers had been slippery and pushing their way into the tightness of Howard. He had prepared him quickly, rushing in accordance with Howard's whispered pleas and stern orders to get on with it. He remembered how amazing it had felt to be inside of him, and the rough erratic pace he had set. He remembered Howard's hands squeezing his wrists where they lay on either side of the brown smoke of his hair.

He remembered panting words he wished he could call back and he remembered Howard gasping the same things until their voices rose in a confused jumble of sound. Howard's eyes had been squeezed shut, but he remembered them opening and locking on his, and he remembered actually being able to see the moment Howard realized what was happening. The terrified look had made him close his own eyes.

He remembered Howard coming first, and following not long after. He remembered rolling off of his mate, and both of them lying side by side, not touching. They had both gazed at the ceiling for what seemed like years. He had been the one to move first, standing up and staring down at Howard lying naked on the bed. He had said something about being sorry for slapping him. He remembered the emphasis on the sorry, trying without words to let Howard know he was sorry for everything.

Howard had smiled weakly and apologized as well, looking more tired than he had ever looked before. He had put on a robe and gone to take a shower, receiving a look that he couldn't decipher from Naboo as he passed him in the hall. He remembered hoping Naboo hadn't heard, but knowing that he had.

He remembered the water running over him, washing away all traces of Howard. He had watched the water trickle down the drain, feeling a loss that he couldn't explain. He had looked down at the fingernail marks on his wrists and caressed them lovingly.

He had promised himself that next time no one would have to be sorry.


End file.
